Friday Night Beneath The Stars
by Equestrienne Dreams
Summary: She's the ditzy queen bee. She's the brainy uptight geek. Or so they want the world to think. As their senior year turns their lives upside down, Brenda Johnson and Sharon Raydor find each other - and find themselves. Brenda/Sharon slash, High School AU. UPDATED 2/23/13.
1. I Knew You Were Trouble

"Move out of the way, jerk!"

"I need more freaking caffeine."

"We still on for later?"

Among the chaos that made up Our Lady Queen of Angels High School, Brenda Leigh Johnson made her way through the crowded hallways with the ease of someone who had three years of practice doing just that. It didn't hurt that the crowd parted almost instinctively for her – that was the kind of respect due the head majorette of an award-winning marching band, no matter that the majorette in question was also, by all accounts, a complete ditz where anything except baton twirling was involved.

How those accounts missed the fact that Brenda had been in all-honors classes since her freshman year was anybody's guess.

Said batons were waiting at the back of her locker, somewhere between her spare makeup kit, practice clothes, and a half-eaten Kit Kat, but Brenda didn't have time for any of that now.

_Someday, _she thought crossly as she hunted down her civics book, _I am going to find whoever made our passing period four minutes long and shove a baton up his –_

"Brenda!"

Her thought was abruptly cut off. "Fritzy! D'you know where I left my civics book?"

"Try your bag," he said with a smirk, and Brenda groaned as she found the textbook buried under three notebooks and a pile of choreography notes.

"Ugh! Thank you. Come on, Fritzy, Pope will kill us if we're late." And with that she took off through the crowd, only glancing back once to make sure her boyfriend was keeping up with her.

They slid into their seats just as the bell rang, all but unnoticed thanks to Flynn, Provenza, and the astounding amount of noise the two were producing. How the two of them could be so coordinated and focused on the football field, and such clowns off it, was an eternal mystery to Brenda, but she supposed the stereotype about boys who played brass instruments had to come from somewhere.

The noise cut off abruptly when Mr. Pope entered the room. "All right, everyone, settle down," their teacher said. "Okay, today I'm going to be assigning this quarter's debate groups."

"Our _what?" _cried Provenza in dismay, and Fritz and Brenda shared a smirk.

"That's what you get when you miss the first day of classes, Louis," said Pope, and Brenda could all but hear _Oooh, burn! _going around the room as the teacher grinned and Provenza winced. "This quarter, you and a partner will prepare a Lincoln-Douglas style debate on the topic of your choice – don't look at me like that, you all did Lincoln-Douglas in Debate class last year. At the end of the quarter, you will present those debates in front of the class. Yes," said Pope, cutting off David Gabriel, whose hand had shot into the air, "you may debate on any topic you wish, provided it is appropriate for school. If you have questions, check with me. And no," he added as Brenda turned to Fritz to confirm that they'd be partners, "you do not get to pick your partner. I will be assigning those."

Brenda's stomach dropped.

"Flynn, you'll be with Howard. Sanchez, you'll be with Taylor. Provenza, you'll be with Gabriel. Watson, you'll be with Tao, and Johnson, you'll be with Raydor. This is not negotiable."

Fritz's hand tangled with hers under her desk, and she squeezed back, closing her eyes tight.

Sharon Raydor, the ice queen? She was stuck with _the Ice Queen? _The frigid, uptight, by-the-book clarinetist who insisted on correcting everyone about everything?

Brenda looked at the auburn-haired girl on the other side of the room, who was very carefully making notes and not looking at anyone. Raydor's mouth was pinched tight, and the pen in her hand was shaking.

_Well, _Brenda thought wryly, _at least I'm not the only one unhappy with this. _

* * *

On the other side of the room, Sharon Raydor did her best to make herself invisible. _That blonde, bubble-brained…_ No doubt she'd stand up in front of the room and bubble on without saying anything of substance, and Sharon's grades would tank, and she could scratch any hope of getting into Yale and out of this blasted –

"Raydor?"

_Ugh._

"Yes, Johnson?" she asked coolly, and realized that she'd completely missed the bell ringing to end class. _Shit._ Maybe Flynn would help her out, just this once.

"If we're going to be partners, we should probably sit down and talk about what we're going to do. Y'know, for our debate." Johnson's words were as sugary sweet as ever, but glancing up, Sharon could see a tightness around her eyes.

_Well, at least she hates me as much as I hate her._

"You're probably right." Sharon couldn't resist mimicking the blonde's sugary sarcasm. "Friday, in the library, over lunch? Unless you'd like to stay after band practice."

"No, lunch is fine," Johnson bit out, and spun on her heel to stalk away, her skirt flaring around her.

Sharon smoothed her slacks and let her head hit the desk with an audible thump, silently blessing the independent study period she had next, before she gathered up her things and headed for the library. That Yale application wouldn't write itself.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after the last bell of the day shrilled through the corridors, Brenda was already changed and on the practice football field, which was completely empty save for a girl in Soffe shorts and a soft t-shirt throwing a silver baton against the sky.

"Irene!" Brenda called, and the junior caught her baton, shaded her eyes against the sun, and smiled, walking toward the sidelines.

"You're already a shoo-in for captain next year," Brenda informed the girl as she tucked thick black hair out of doe-soft brown eyes. "You really don't have to work yourself to death to prove it."

Irene stuck her tongue out at her blonde captain, leaving the older girl cackling. "As if you wouldn't be out here yourself if you didn't have a class last period," the junior pointed out. "And I know very well you're here three or four hours a day on the weekends. Don't you scold me about my work ethic, Brenda Leigh."

"You have a point," the blonde sighed, dropping to the artificial grass and rolling easily into a split. "And if you weren't that driven I wouldn't have hand-picked you to lead my squad to yet another championship." Sighing into the stretch, she shifted the split to a straddle and rolled through it onto her belly, then turned so she was lying flat on her back. "Can you – "

"Sure thing." With the ease of long practice, Irene caught the leg Brenda kicked to the sky, then pressed it down until Brenda's nose was tucked against her knee and her toes were curling into the grass above her head.

Ten minutes later, Brenda kicked easily through a back walkover, then stretched her shoulders and sighed. "Ready to get this show on the road?"

Grinning, Irene flung her baton as high as she could, flipped through an aerial cartwheel and straightened just in time to catch the baton as it plummeted back to earth.

Now it was Brenda who stuck her tongue out. "Showoff."

"You can call me Irene, though."

Trying desperately to hide her smile, Brenda pointed. "You. Off my field."

"Yes, ma'am!" Irene saluted and took off running for the locker room, ready to run the rest of the majorettes through their warm-ups as Brenda curled up on the bleachers and started scribbling choreography for their latest routine.

She only started to come out of her daze when Fritz settled next to her, his trombone slung over his shoulder. "Hey babe," he said absently, squeezing her shoulder. She made a pleased noise and flashed a smile at him, still mostly absorbed in choreography, as the rest of the trombone section clattered over the bleachers behind their section leader. They were followed by the rest of the band, straggling in. They'd have warmed up in the band room, she knew, before coming to join the majorettes on the field. They came in twos and threes, music in one hand, bags slung over shoulders, instruments in cases or not.

Except for one.

Brenda caught sight of Sharon Raydor, clarinet case in hand, auburn hair wound in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Where the rest of the band carried music in messy piles, hers was a neat stack tucked under her arm. Where the rest of the band was in sweats and t-shirts, Sharon wore a navy polo and khaki slacks with pin-straight creases.

It was a sight she'd seen almost every day of the past three years without ever seeing it at all, but right now, today, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Raydor looked up, meeting Brenda's gaze straight on. Her eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, and for half a mad second Brenda swore she saw the other girl's pulse fluttering in her throat from nearly forty yards away.

Furious with herself, Brenda broke the gaze with a jerk of her head and waved Irene over. "Right," she said crisply, "this is what we're going to work on today."

Slowly, fighting the urge to throw herself through the routine in double time, she began the choreography that would win them Nationals.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **This is the first HSAU I've ever written, and the first plotty _Closer_ story I've ever written. What can I say? Our ladies bring it out in me. _

_PS: If you're looking for Fritzy-bashing, it ain't here. Move along. I hope you enjoy! I can't promise when the next update will be, but it should be soon. _


	2. Speak Now

Brenda escaped Calculus as soon as the bell rang, cramming textbook and calculator into her already overstuffed bag as she bolted for the library. Between band practice, homework, and college applications, she'd barely had time to look into debate topics for Civics, and she flatly refused to be shown up by the Ice Queen.

Especially after _that moment. _That instant on the field she hadn't been able to forget.

_Dammit._

Shaking herself, Brenda searched the shelves until she found the book she was looking for.

"Hello," said that cool voice, and she looked over her shoulder to see none other than Sharon Raydor.

"I've already got us a table," the other girl continued. "Shall we begin?"

Hiding a grimace, Brenda nodded. _May as well get this over with._

Her jaw hit the floor when Raydor handed her an exact copy of the book she held in her own hands.

"You want to do the Patriot Act?"

Raydor visibly braced herself. "I think it's an issue that has two equally justifiable but diametrically opposed sides. And it's an issue most people don't think about. You know the others are going to do abortion or gay marriage or gun rights, and all we'll see are a couple of strawmen going back and forth hitting points we've heard a thousand times before. But this…"

"This could be a real debate that educates people. Including us. About something that affects our lives every day whether or not we see it."

"Exactly." Even the ice queen couldn't keep the shock off her face. Since when did the queen bee have a functioning brain good for anything more than twirling routines and makeup?

"Unless you think you're not up to the challenge," Raydor added, a smirk on her face.

_Ooooh, that woman!_

Brenda's eyes narrowed. "Raydor, I am up to anything you care to throw my way."

"Oh," said Raydor, trying for sarcasm, but even she couldn't keep the slightest trace of hope from her voice, because some small part of her knew that she might have just met her match. "I hope so, Johnson. I do hope so."

* * *

Standing in the school's library, Sharon Raydor couldn't stop herself from reeling.

Clearly, under all that blonde hair and lipgloss, the captain of the majorettes possessed more than a few functional brain cells, and Sharon found herself increasingly uncomfortable as her illusions shattered around her. Johnson had instantly and accurately grasped precisely why Sharon wanted this topic so badly, and what's more, she'd obviously agreed with Sharon's assessment of what the rest of the class was likely to do without even realizing it.

Suddenly Sharon flashed back on the classes she'd seen the girl leaving over the past week without even registering it. Calculus, AP Literature, AP Biology, Organic Chemistry, German V – how had she _missed _this?

She shook herself suddenly, realizing that she'd been staring at the other girl for an uncomfortably long time. "Unless you think you're not up to the challenge," she added, trying to keep up appearances. No need to let on to her sudden epiphany.

Johnson's eyes narrowed instantly. "Raydor, I am up to anything you care to throw my way," she snapped, clearly annoyed.

Oh, yes, there were some definite possibilities here. Sharon might just survive this after all.

As long as she didn't kill her debate partner in the process.

"I hope so, Johnson," she said, feeling hope for the first time in days. "I do hope so."

* * *

Brenda spent the weekend immersed in the Patriot Act and in her choreography, barely coming up to breathe for German, Calculus, and AP Bio. Fritz left three separate messages on her phone, only to be called back at midnight on Saturday with, "Sorry, sweetheart, I barely have time to eat. Rain check?" He had taken the rebuff with good grace, in no small part because his homework load was not all that much lighter than her own, but Brenda was a bit surprised at how engrossing her debate topic really was. The complexities of the controversial legislation had her spending hours buried in books and government websites, trying to sort fact from fiction and more determined than ever to give the class a debate they would never forget.

By the time she scrambled into Civics on Monday, her head was swimming, but she was beginning to get to grips with the whole thing.

Which was when Pope made them all announce their debate topics, and Sharon Raydor surprised her yet again.

* * *

"Howard, Flynn, topic?"

"Legalizing marijuana," Flynn said instantly, and Sharon had to give him credit; the topic seemed frivolous, but if they could pull it off, they might just be able to get into the nuances of the topic that got lost in the general discussion. Howard was a smart guy, and she knew Andy had a brain in his head no matter what he liked to pretend; this would be interesting to watch.

But it got steadily more predictable from there. Sanchez and Taylor took gun rights, which didn't surprise Sharon in the least. Watson and Tao went for gay marriage, and Provenza and Gabriel took abortion.

Across the aisle, Johnson caught her gaze and flashed one, then two, then three fingers in the air, then rolled her eyes and mouthed "Three for three" as Pope finished writing down Gabriel and Provenza's debate topic.

In answer Sharon raised an eyebrow to say "I told you so," then had to stop herself from laughing as Johnson stuck her tongue out in Sharon's direction and blew a silent raspberry.

Caught up in the byplay, Sharon bit her lip and shrugged as if to say "It's not my fault I'm just that good," only to blush bright red when she realized Pope was staring at her.

"Johnson? Raydor? Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

"No, sir," she and Johnson chorused at the exact same time as Sharon ducked her head in pure humiliation.

But when she snuck a glance out from under her bangs a few moments later, Johnson caught her eye and winked. And, still a bit stunned at what had just happened, Sharon smiled back.

* * *

"So what was that bit with Raydor all about?" Fritz asked Brenda as they made their way to German.

"Oh, nothing," Brenda said dismissively, but Fritz didn't buy it, and gave her The Look.

Brenda sighed dramatically.

Fritz raised an eyebrow.

"Something Raydor said when we met to decide a debate topic on Friday," Brenda said at last, unable to resist him as always. "She suggested the Patriot Act before I could open my mouth, and I asked her why, and… well, it ended with her predicting that someone would pick abortion, someone would pick gay marriage and someone would pick gun rights."

Fritz stared at her, then erupted into laughter. "Smart girl," he said through his chuckles. "I know you can't stand her, babe, but you have to admit she's clever."

"Oh, she is at that," Brenda admitted grudgingly. "She might even be bearable if she didn't have a broomstick rammed up her…"

"Yes, I get it," Fritz cut her off. "Just… try not to kill her, okay, Brenda?"

"What makes you think I'd do any such thing?" she snapped indignantly, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder and ducking a particularly enormous football player.

"I know you," said Fritz pointedly, and Brenda sighed, a wisp of hair falling into her face. "Come on." Fritz slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against him. "Let's muddle through German so we can get to the part of our day that really matters."

"And this is why I love you," said Brenda cheerily as she pecked him on the mouth, all smiles again.

As she strolled through the door with her boyfriend at her side, she didn't think to wonder why the one image still stuck in her head was Sharon Raydor's smile.


	3. The Night Things Changed

By the time she made it to the library and her twice-weekly lunch with Raydor, Brenda was ready to scream. She dropped her bag unceremoniously to the floor, slammed into her chair, and let her forehead hit her hands with a resounding _THUNK!_

Raydor merely raised an eyebrow over her mouthful of tuna salad sandwich.

"_Sykes," _snarled Brenda, answering the other girl's unspoken question as she rummaged through her bag for her Civics notebook. "I swear to God, if that girl doesn't stop doing our routine a full beat behind at _every single rehearsal, _I am going to have her cut from the squad, I don't care if she _is _our director's daughter! I started them on our competition routine _a month ago, _and our first competition is a week from Saturday!"

Sharon, who had by this point finished her sandwich, lit with understanding. "I can't say I haven't noticed," she remarked dryly. "I take it she's the tiny freshman in front who can't keep the beat?"

"That's her," confirmed Brenda, her knuckles still white. "And I can't put her in back, either, because it would make Daddy unhappy. God forbid! It's not like I've been a member of this championship squad for three years! It's not like I was groomed for captain starting my sophomore year! What does he want from me, a miracle?"

"Apparently," said Sharon without missing a beat. "And you intend to give him one, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Or die trying." Heaving a sigh, she pulled out a corned beef sandwich and kicked her bag further under her chair. "How are the clarinets coming?"

"Woefully." Sharon made a face. "Andrea's the only decent one among the lot of them, and we both know it."

"I'll pray for your miracle if you'll pray for mine," said Brenda tartly. "It sounds like we'll both need them. Have we settled on Title II as our sub-topic?"

"I'm willing if you are. I intend to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that wiretapping without a warrant is not only unconstitutional but un-American."

"Un-American my ass," snapped Brenda, then winced as the librarian glared at her. "It's not so un-American when it keeps us alive, is it? Sometimes you have to go beyond the law to serve a greater good."

"'Those who would give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety,'" retorted Sharon, and they were off.

When she and Sharon finally split as the bell rang and they hurried to their separate classes, Brenda could only wonder one thing.

When had 'Raydor' become 'Sharon'?

* * *

"Are you all right?" Andrea Hobbs tucked a long strand of dark-blonde hair behind her ear and opened her clarinet case as Sharon slid onto the bleachers next to her best friend.

"I actually enjoyed my lunch with Brenda today," Sharon blurted, and Andrea turned to stare at her.

"All right," she said slowly. "One, what? Why? And two – when did you start calling her Brenda?"

"I have no idea." Sharon slumped, answering Andrea's second question first. "She – she gives as good as she gets, Andie. Everything I can throw at her, she comes back at me with more. It's not… you're brilliant, but – "

Andrea waved her off. "I'm clever. _You're _brilliant. I'm really good, but I'm not in your league, and we both know it. Which suits me just fine. Now keep talking."

"She was supposed to be an idiot!" cried Sharon at last. "Good for twirling and makeup and nothing else! And she's – do you know how many classes we're both taking? Different periods, except Civics, but she's in Calc, too, and AP Bio, and AP Lit, and – it's not _fair! _She looks like _that, _everybody likes her or at least pretends to because they're terrified of her, _and _she's brilliant? And she plays fast and loose with the rules, I don't know how she gets away with half of what she does, she must be exploiting half a dozen loopholes in this year's routine alone!"

Andrea stared at her. "How long have you been feeling like this? I've never seen you this way. Sharon, are you _jealous?" _

"Yes. No. I don't know!"

"Sharie," said Andrea gently, "you know I love you, so let's see if I can clear this up for you. You don't hate her because you're jealous. You're jealous because she bends the rules and wins when she does."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," said Andrea imperturbably. "Sharie, rules aren't everything. Brenda wins because she comes up with the most inventive routines in the country – routines nobody else thinks to try because they think the rules won't allow it. You don't hate her. You _resent _her for succeeding, because it's solid proof that playing by the rules isn't the only way to win."

"I _really _hate you."

"No, you really don't," said Andrea cheerfully. "Think of how boring your debate would be if she _wasn't _that good."

"I don't want to like her." Sharon tucked her knees to her chest on the bench, gazing miserably into the distance.

"Would it be so bad if you did? I know what it's like in your house, remember – " Quickly Andrea wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder to keep her from falling off the bench, " – but honey, the rest of the world isn't like that."

Sharon stared at her, trying not to cry. _I won't, _she thought stubbornly, _I won't cry, I don't care that it's just Andie, anyone could see…_

Andrea hugged her close. "It'll be all right, sweetie. Come on, pull yourself together, the rest of the section's coming, we're gonna start soon."

"All right," Sharon said, her smile shaky but growing. "Andie? Thanks."

Andrea shot her a grin, picking up her instrument and nudging her case under the bench. "Anytime. Come on, let's go show these chumps how it's done."

As she took her place on the field, though, Sharon couldn't help but fix her gaze on a small blonde figure in Soffes and a sleeveless tank top, her silver baton spinning in her hands.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_I'm much more sure of where I'm going with these characters and this story now, so chapters will be longer and, hopefully, you'll never have to deal with a two-month wait again. To everyone who's been so patient with me, thank you so much!_


	4. Begin Again

Rehearsal ended three hours later, leaving Sharon dewed with sweat as the formation fell apart and she straggled with her fellow band-mates to the bleachers and a chance to sit and put themselves back together before heading home for the night.

She was reaching for her clarinet case when a positively hellish growl had her freezing where she stood.

"_Majorettes stay on the field!"_

Half curious, half frightened, she turned slowly around to see Brenda Johnson, red-faced and furious, glaring at the nine majorettes of the marching band, all of whom were doing the next thing to cowering in fear.

"What in the _hell _did you think that was?!" she demanded, her voice going pure Southern in her fury. "We have our first contest in a _week. _At this point I wouldn't take y'all to perform at the County Fair! That was the most pathetic, useless display of twirling I've ever seen in my life! Y'all are the most useless lot I've ever – "

"_That is enough!" _Hardly aware of what she was doing, Sharon stormed onto the field, shoving herself between the twirlers and their furious captain. "Brenda Johnson, that is _not _the way you speak to a group you are trying to lead! Name-calling? Insults? What do you expect that to do, improve their performance?!"

Brenda glared. "Raydor, this is none of your –"

"Shut up," ordered Sharon crisply, and was gratified when Brenda fell silent, absolutely stunned.

Whirling, she turned on the other nine girls, all of whom had begun to back slowly off the field. "_Stay where you are," _she snarled. "Whatever her methods, Brenda's right. That was abysmal. The number of times I had to get out of the way because one of you couldn't hit your marks properly is astounding and, frankly, horrifying. I don't know what that was, but I do know that it had better be fixed. I, at least, have some pride in this band. You ought to, as well. I suggest you clean it up, because next time I won't stop her."

Turning on her heel, she stalked back to the bleachers, aware of Brenda's astounded eyes on her the whole time.

She ducked her head when she reached her things, hiding her face behind auburn hair long since escaped from its tidy braid, but she couldn't help but hear Brenda's barked directives.

"Rehearsal on Saturday," she heard the blonde say crisply. "Nine a.m. sharp. Bring lunch, we're not leaving until we get this routine somewhere close to acceptable." A chorus of protests broke out, only to suddenly be silenced by what she could only assume was Brenda's glare. "If you'd not decided to fall apart today, this wouldn't be necessary. Is there anyone who doesn't have a ride?"

A grumbled murmur in the negative was the general response.

"Good," said Brenda crisply. "Thank you. Thank you _so _much. Now get off my field."

As the girls turned to go, Sharon heard Brenda call, much more quietly, "Irene. Kendall. Bethany. Ainsley."

Sharon held her breath.

"You were superb today," Brenda said, and Sharon nearly collapsed in surprise. "You have been consistently superb all year, in fact. I'm sorry to drag you in for extra practice you clearly do not need, but we need the full squad to practice this routine right."

"It's all right," said a tiny brunette sophomore – Kendall, Sharon thought vaguely. "Thank you, cap'n. It – it makes a difference, hearing that."

"You're welcome." If Sharon didn't know better, she'd have sworn Brenda was shuffling her feet. "Dismissed."

* * *

Brenda closed her eyes as the girls fled. She was utterly drained, wanting nothing more than to sink into her bed and not move for a week.

_Fall break, _she reminded herself wearily. _Just hold on till fall break._

The bleachers were nearly empty; only Sharon Raydor was left, still packing her things. Her shoulders were slumped, her hair loose and flyaway.

She looked ashamed. Ashamed, and afraid.

Brenda took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," blurted Sharon, not looking around. "Johnson, I – I have no excuses."

"No," Brenda said quietly. Now, drained of the worst of her anger, she could see the sense in what Sharon had done, even if the normally perfectly composed girl's actions had absolutely shocked her. "Thank you, Raydor – Sharon," she amended. Somehow, it seemed right.

Sharon turned to look at her, astonishment written all over her face.

"You were right," Brenda continued. "I was out of control. Thank you."

"You were right, too," Sharon admitted. "It was…"

"Pathetic?" suggested Brenda, a smile beginning to bloom on her face.

"I was thinking 'fucking terrible'," Sharon said shyly.

They looked at each other, then collapsed into helpless laughter, cackling hysterically, as all the tension of the past few hours dissipated into nothing.

"Oh, God," gasped Brenda, wiping tears from her eyes. "I really needed that."

"I could tell," offered Sharon. "I know it's been worrying you for awhile."

"Yeah." Brenda sank onto the bleachers, resting her forehead in her hands. "Today was just the last straw." She paused. "Since we're here anyway, I meant to ask – we're done with our research, wouldn't you say?"

Sharon nodded. "I know I've got everything I need."

"So do I. I was thinking – do you want to meet up this weekend? You could come over, we could start outlining the actual debate."

"Oh! Yes. Half an hour at a time isn't really enough, I don't think. Much better to have a couple hours to get it done properly." Sharon bit her lip. "Only – why don't you come over to mine instead? My mother's out of town this weekend, so we'd be guaranteed quiet."

Brenda stared at her for a long minute, abruptly floored by just how much her life had changed in the space of six weeks. She was alone on the bleachers with Sharon Raydor, who two months ago she would have sworn up and down she hated as much as the other girl hated her. But today, somehow, she was actually enjoying herself, in a way she couldn't remember doing – well, _ever. _

And the idea of escaping all the bustle and noise to sit down in quiet and spend a couple of hours working out the debate with Sharon sounded, right now, like something close to heaven.

_After all, _thought Brenda a little bitterly, _I'm not really known for my interpersonal skills. As today showed very well. Aside from Fritzy and Irene, and maybe the boys, who have I got, really? Maybe – maybe she and I are just difficult enough that we can handle each other._

"Brenda?" asked Sharon gently, and she shook herself free from her musings.

"Yeah." Looking at the redhead in front of her, Brenda felt a rare, true smile blossom on her face. "That sounds great, Sharon. That sounds – that sounds perfect."


	5. Come In With The Rain

Practice ended around two, when the imminent threat of rain meant Brenda had to send everyone home or risk being yelled at by worried parents. She was the last to leave, of course, hitting the locker room for a quick shower and to change out of her practice clothes. Hair still damp, dressed in pink and grey, she left the band room a good half an hour after everyone else.

As it turned out, the heavens opened just as she closed the door of her car. The drive to Sharon's was twenty long minutes of white knuckles and a nearly impenetrable windshield – Brenda could hardly see ten feet in front of her car, and her headlights were next to useless. Which, Brenda thought wryly, was quite a feat for a drive that should have taken ten minutes on any other day. By the time she arrived, she was almost sweating. She breathed a sigh of relief when the garage door opened as she pulled into the driveway and Sharon, standing in the window, waved her in.

The house was exactly what she expected of Sharon's family; it looked like something out of a magazine, all cool cream carpets, high ceilings, and dark leather furniture. But Sharon herself…

In navy plaid pajama pants and a hunter green waffle-weave shirt, her hair piled on her head in some sort of messy bun, Sharon Raydor looked more casual than Brenda had ever seen her.

Sharon took one look at her face and began to snicker. "Mama left for the airport two hours ago," she said by way of explanation. "I changed as soon as she left."

"But you…" Lost for words, Brenda waved a hand and shrugged her shoulders.

"But I always look like someone ironed my clothes on every morning?"

"More or less." Following Sharon's lead, Brenda slung her bag on a chair at the kitchen table and gratefully accepted the bottle of sweet tea Sharon handed her.

"Partly that's me," Sharon admitted. "I've always been the formal sort, as clothes go. But even I need to let that go sometimes, and my mother…"

"Wouldn't be pleased?" Brenda finished gently.

"You could say that." As though she was battling herself, Sharon shook her head. "She's very – particular."

All at once, a number of things about Sharon Raydor began to make quite a bit more sense. Her obsession with following the rules, for one. The way she always looked like she'd stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, for another. And… the way she'd reacted Thursday afternoon, when Brenda had gone off on her squad. _As though she wanted to protect them from something she'd felt herself, _Brenda thought, and felt a little sick.

* * *

_She knows, _thought Sharon, and battled back fear. She'd known, when she suggested this, that a number of things she preferred to keep to herself were going to come to light – things no one but Andrea knew, and she had known Andrea since kindergarten.

But there was no pity in Brenda's eyes, just gentle understanding – and a touch of anger.

"I see," Brenda said, but she meant so much more, and Sharon breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that project won't do itself. Where are we?"

"I've held off on it," Sharon answered her absently, sorting through her notes. "I wanted to wait until you got here – and thank God you arrived when you did, if I'd had to conjugate one more French verb I might have thrown something. How's the squad?"

"Passable," admitted Brenda with a sigh as she sank into a chair opposite Sharon and found her own notes. "If we work our tails off this week, we shouldn't embarrass ourselves too badly on Saturday." Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she bent over her notes.

And, as she relaxed for the first time in months, Sharon did the same.

* * *

They were maybe half an hour into their work, arguing over some point or other, when the sound of a closing door had Sharon sitting bolt upright.

Brenda, startled, looked around just in time to see a classically beautiful brunette, maybe forty years old, walk into the kitchen. Next to her, Sharon scrambled to her feet, fear in her eyes; hastily, Brenda followed her example.

"Mother? I thought you were on a plane to Dulles?" Brenda could see Sharon's hands trembling, but to her credit, her voice was steady.

"I was supposed to be. The flight was delayed three hours due to bad weather, and I took the opportunity to come home and pick up a few more things." Mrs. Raydor turned cool blue eyes on Brenda; she straightened instinctively. "Sharon, who is your – friend?"

"Brenda Johnson, ma'am," she answered, as Sharon's hands spasmed and she seemed lost for words. "Sharon and I are working on a debate for Civics class, and she suggested that it would be quieter here than the school library."

"Ah." And with that, Mrs. Raydor turned to her daughter. "Sharon Elisabeth, are you really wearing _that _with company?"

Brenda's hands clenched into fists at the woman's tone, but fortunately Sharon seemed to have recovered her wits. "It seemed appropriate," she replied, her tone just as cool as her mother's. "I knew Brenda would be coming from majorette practice, and I thought it might be more comfortable for both of us if we were both to be – dressed down."

Quietly, behind her back, Brenda gave Sharon a discreet thumbs up, and saw her grateful glance.

"In that case, I ought to let you get back to your schoolwork. Have you anything else left?"

"No, ma'am." Sharon ducked her head, but her eyes were defiant. "I finished French this morning, and everything else is finished."

"Very well. I'll be in France for the week. If you need anything, Mrs. Hobbs has agreed you're more than welcome to come to her. Miss Johnson, a pleasure." And with that, she sailed out of the room.

She and Sharon sat frozen for five minutes, until they heard the front door close and a car pull out of the driveway.

"Is she always like that?" demanded Brenda as soon as they were alone again. "Sharon, you…"

"She really does want the best for me," Sharon interrupted her, obviously exhausted. "I believe that. But – I remind her so much of my father, and she…"

"What happened?"

"I can't." Sharon closed her eyes. "Someday I'll tell you. But I can't right now."

"All right." Brenda cast about for something to say. "If – Sharon, my house isn't the quietest, but if you want to – get away for a weekend, or something. Let me know, alright?" Sharon turned startled eyes on Brenda, who began to laugh herself. "I know. I never thought I'd be saying that. Ever. But – you're not so bad, you know?"

Finally smiling, Sharon grinned back. "Neither are you."

* * *

By the time they had finished at least a rough outline, it was going on five o'clock and, if anything, the weather was worse than it had been when Brenda arrived.

"You can't drive home in that," stated Sharon matter-of-factly. "And you'd be a fool to try."

Brenda took one look out the window and shuddered. "I wouldn't care to. Have you got the weather forecast?"

Quickly, Sharon pulled up the website and shook her head. "It won't clear until early morning, at the earliest," she reported. "Would your mother have fits if you stayed the night?"

Brenda cast her a look of pure gratitude. "I think she'd much rather that than me driving home in that storm," she agreed. "But I don't have anything with me."

Sharon shrugged. "You're tinier than I am, but for pajamas that doesn't exactly matter," she pointed out. "And I've always got a spare toothbrush or two, for when Andrea doesn't go home for one reason or another. Do you mind the trundle bed?"

"After four years of sleeping on bus seats and Irene's or Fritz's shoulder, anything flat is a blessing," retorted Brenda, and Sharon couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"Well." Still a little stunned that she was apparently having a sleepover with Brenda Leigh Johnson of all people – and that she was evidently going to enjoy it – Sharon picked up her bag and headed for the stairs. "In that case, follow me!"


	6. Like Passing Notes In Secrecy

Sharon's room was, much to Brenda's surprise, anything but a showplace. Neat as a pin, yes, but there all resemblance ended.

Her walls were painted the warm golden brown of a perfectly toasted marshmallow, a color Sharon confessed to picking for exactly that reason. Fat pillows in all shades of blue, from navy to baby blue and blue-violet to turquoise, piled at the head of a navy bedspread and creamy white sheets on a surprisingly simple wooden bedstead. Her bookcases were crowded with battered paperbacks, ranging from Jane Austen to Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time. _And under a plain flat-screen television were stacked plastic DVD cases of films starring everyone from Reese Witherspoon to Bette Davis.

She saw _Casablanca _next to, of all things, _Legally Blonde, _and began to laugh.

Sharon shot her an affronted glare, but when she saw where Brenda was looking, she ruefully joined in the laughter. "I know, I know," she said, waving a hand at the DVD in question, as she stowed Brenda's bag at the foot of her bed. "But it's quite a clever film, and in any case, it's rather refreshing to watch something that presents being intelligent as something desirable."

"Not to mention showing that being a pink-loving blonde doesn't have to mean being dumb," added Brenda, and Sharon laughed outright.

"I never thought of that," she admitted. "That must have been a nice change for you."

"It was." Gingerly, Brenda sank into a chair. "The first time I saw it I almost cried, I was so happy."

"Well, I gather that settles how we're whiling away the time," said Sharon, and she grinned. "Movie marathon!"

Brenda grinned back. "With the collection you've got? Absolutely."

"But first," said Sharon, jumping up, "we ought to do something about dinner." She shot a mischievous glance at Brenda. "And no, it's not going to be Ding-Dongs."

Brenda gasped in outrage, then – completely on impulse – picked up a pillow. "Oh, I'm going to get you for that!" And she unceremoniously dealt the first blow with the pillow.

Sharon stared at her in astonishment for all of ten seconds, then picked up her own pillow and whacked Brenda right back.

After that things rather quickly descended, ever so predictably, into all-out war.

* * *

Brenda Leigh Johnson, Sharon discovered, was an incredibly wily opponent. Maybe it was her years of dance and majorette training, or maybe just her natural agility; whatever the reason, as they battered each other with every pillow they could get their hands on, Brenda managed to land about three blows for every one of Sharon's.

Sharon, to her considerable surprise, found herself not caring in the slightest.

It came to a rather spectacular end when Brenda, getting hold of an enormous body pillow, gave one great whack that sent Sharon sprawling onto her bed. As Sharon gasped for breath, Brenda's momentum had her crashing into the edge of the mattress, bouncing off it, and landing in a heap on top of several pillows now littering the floor.

As they had the other day on the bleachers, they stared at each other for a long moment, then erupted into hysterical laughter.

"Holy Mother," breathed Brenda, as she tried to get her breath back. "I didn't know so many pillows would make it so much more fun."

"I'll take your word for it," said Sharon, finally hauling herself up from her ungainly sprawl, "since I've nothing to compare it with."

Brenda gasped in outright horror. "You mean…"

"Yes," said Sharon dryly, "I've never had a pillow fight before. Surely that can't surprise you."

Brenda just gaped.

"Really," continued Sharon, giving Brenda a Look of the first order. "Do either Andrea or I seem the type?"

"No," Brenda admitted, a smile tugging at her mouth. "I have to say you don't. Well. In that case, what do you think?"

Sharon considered for a minute. "I think," she said eventually, "I'm beginning to see the appeal."

Brenda was visibly grinning fit to burst, and Sharon had to grin back.

"Come on," she said finally, when they had recovered their breath a bit more. "I definitely need food, and if I know anything about you, you've barely eaten anything all day."

Brenda winced. "Guilty," she admitted, picking herself up from the floor and beating the dust off the pillows she had landed on before tossing them back on to Sharon's bed. "And I don't mind admitting that I'm starving, either."

"Good." Sharon swung out the door, Brenda steps behind her. "We could be disgustingly healthy and heat up yesterday's lasagne, which would of course demand a salad to go with it," she said when they reached the kitchen, "or we could make this a proper girls' night and heat up a frozen pizza, since no pizza place worth its salt is going to be delivering in this weather."

Brenda looked at Sharon.

Sharon looked right back.

"Pizza," they chorused simultaneously.

Sharon grinned. "That's what I thought." Expertly she whisked the box out of the freezer, then set the oven to preheat.

* * *

An hour later found them scrambling back up to Sharon's room with a box of steaming hot pizza and a bottle each of their beverage of choice. Brenda, of course, had sweet tea. Sharon had chosen the decidedly less sweet option of bottled water, but, as she pointed out, at least it was "_good _bottled water!"

Considering the label on the bottle said "Fiji", Brenda had to agree with her.

"Hold on," said Sharon, pausing outside what appeared to be a closet door and handing Brenda the box. "We're going to need these." Reaching inside, she pulled out two delightfully worn, tied-fleece blankets. One – Sharon's, she presumed – was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds on one side, and oatmeal brown on the other. The second was adorable Paint foals on a grass-green background, with chocolate brown fleece on the reverse.

"Here," Sharon said, handing Brenda the horse blanket and taking the pizza box. "I haven't had this one out for years, but it seems to suit you."

Brenda just smiled, shook her head, and bundled the fleece into her arms.

"Right," said Sharon, when pizza and blankets were safely stowed on the bed. "What shall we watch?"

Brenda just shook her head. "Oh, no. You know what you've got, not me."

"Well." Sharon considered. "It's only six o'clock, which means we've got time for an actual marathon, since nobody cares how late we sleep tomorrow. And it would be a shame to waste _Legally Blonde _and _Drumline _on the first go, wouldn't it?" She cast her eyes down, as if she was almost hoping Brenda wouldn't spot the implications.

Brenda, of course, spotted the implications instantly. "It really would," she agreed, her own voice just as carefully neutral as Sharon's.

When she saw the hidden, relieved grin on the other girl's face, though, Brenda sighed in relief herself.

Shaking herself, Sharon bent back to the problem at hand. "How do you feel about Errol Flynn?" she asked eventually.

Brenda almost laughed aloud. "I have very fond feelings about Errol Flynn," she assured the other girl.

"Good." Sharon came up with three DVDs: _The Adventures of Robin Hood, _the 2010 _Robin Hood_ starring Russell Crowe, and – to Brenda's considerable delight – _Men in Tights._

"Perfect." Barely stopping herself from bouncing, Brenda settled a few carefully-chosen pillows behind her back as Sharon popped the 1938 film in the DVD player, grabbed a piece of pizza, and settled herself on the bed, throwing her blanket over herself.

Beaming, Brenda snagged her own piece of pizza, tucked her blanket a little tighter, and leaned back on her own pillows as Sharon pressed play and one of her favorite film scores of all time began to play through the speakers.


	7. Every Time You Smile

By the time Errol Flynn rode into the sunset with Olivia de Havilland, they had decimated the pizza. Brenda, it seemed, wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten much that day.

"Guilty." Uncurling herself from blanket and pillows, Sharon winced. "I never seem to, when left to my own devices."

"Yes, well, I'm sure the circumstances didn't help," Brenda pointed out. "Or was I the only one afraid today would be a total disaster?"

Sharon glanced sharply at her, then looked away, busying herself with folding up the now mostly-empty pizza box. "No," she admitted. "No, I'm afraid you weren't. We haven't exactly been on the best of terms for the last three years, have we?"

"Sharon," said Brenda tartly, "you could just _say _that you've spent all of high school thinking I was a rules-flouting, airheaded bimbo incapable of anything more complicated than twirling a baton."

"Well you could just admit that you've spent the last three years thinking I'm an uptight frigid bitch with a rules complex," Sharon retorted. As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, she clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh my God."

Brenda bit her lip and fought not to smile. "Well, I still think you have a rules complex."

"And I still think you don't pay enough attention to them."

Now Brenda couldn't help but smile. "But you no longer think I'm an airheaded bimbo."

Sharon, too, broke into smiles. "And you no longer think I'm an uptight frigid bitch."

"I'd say that's about the size of it." Suddenly serious, Brenda turned to her newfound friend. "Sharon – I'm really glad I've gotten to know you."

Unexpectedly touched, Sharon blinked back tears. "I'm glad I've gotten to know you, too."

"Right," said Brenda eventually, when they had gazed at each other for what seemed like an impossibly long time. "Let's get this stuff cleaned up and get changed, do you think? And then we can watch the last two in peace."

Hoisting the pizza box, Sharon nodded. "Let me dump this," she said, "and then we'll sort out pajamas for you."

* * *

'Pajamas' turned out to be one of last year's band t-shirts and a pair of yoga pants that barely stayed on Brenda's slim frame. Brenda changed without so much as a hint of modesty, but Sharon didn't even blink; not even Sharon Raydor had escaped the effects of years of band competitions where 'privacy' meant boys and girls had different rooms to change in. "Thanks," she said gratefully when she had tied off her blonde hair in a loose braid. "I really do appreciate it."

Sharon waved her off. "It's nothing," she said, and meant it. "Right. Shall we?"

Grinning, Brenda settled back against her pile of pillows. "If you answer me something." Sharon cast her a curious look, and Brenda grinned. "Why exactly does Miss Obedient love a character who robs from the rich to give to the poor? I mean, that's not exactly rule-abiding!"

Sharon threw a pillow at her. "Rules are one thing," she said tartly. "They exist for a reason." Here she threw a significant look at Brenda. "But rules created only to oppress people? That's something else. I think – I think in a way Robin Hood _was _following the rules. A more important set of rules. It was King John who was breaking trust with his people, in the end."

Brenda shook her head. "Trust you to come up with that. A more important set of rules, indeed!"

"Fine, tell me I'm wrong."

Brenda stared at her for a long minute, just a little off balance. Here was a side to Sharon Raydor she had never expected. "I can't." As Sharon started to smirk, Brenda threw the pillow back at her. "Oh shut up and let's just watch the movie!"

Sharon threw back her head and laughed, and for an instant she wasn't even aware of, Brenda was absolutely spellbound.

"Right," said Sharon, when she'd finished laughing fit to burst. "One Robin Hood parody, coming right up!"

* * *

_Men in Tights _was as funny as Brenda remembered, but it couldn't compare to watching Sharon, who, to Brenda's considerable astonishment, knew every line by heart and couldn't resist muttering most of them under her breath. When they got to the 'speak with an English accent' scene, her imitation was so perfect that Brenda unceremoniously paused the film and begged her to do it again.

After much persuasion, Sharon rolled her eyes and said, in a pitch-perfect imitation of Cary Elwes, "Unlike some other Robin Hoods, I can speak with an English accent!"

After that, they cranked the volume down to low and did the whole rest of the movie themselves, only dialing it back up again when Patrick Stewart came onscreen – because, Sharon informed her primly, "No one does Patrick Stewart better than Patrick Stewart."

Sharon would rarely admit it aloud, but Russell Crowe's _Robin Hood _was among her all-time favorites. Brenda, who had never seen the film before, scoffed when she heard this, but by the end her eyes were filled with tears as she and Sharon curled up together under their shared blankets. "Look at how much he loves her," said Brenda, her voice choked with sobs, as Robin mounted his horse and kissed Marion goodbye.

By the end of the climactic battle, with Robin bent over Marion's still body begging her to live, Sharon had a comforting arm wrapped around Brenda's shoulders as the blonde girl cried quietly. As the credits rolled, Brenda just looked at Sharon and said, "All right, you win."

Sharon didn't even bother with "I told you so."


	8. Wishing On a Wishing Star

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, calm down, Miss Obedient!" said Brenda cheerfully as she dipped the ends of her batons in rubbing alcohol, then squeezed the excess off the wicks and gave the batons a few experimental spins. "It's only for the football games, I'm doing a quad-baton routine for competition instead."

"Leaving aside the fact that you have somehow learned two separate routines for the same part of the same program," said Sharon acidly, "have you somehow missed that you will be twirling _something that is on fire?" _

"No," said Brenda, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I wasn't aware of that. Even though I'm soaking my baton in rubbing alcohol. Sharon, the whole _point _is to twirl something that's on fire!"

Sharon opened her mouth, shut it again, and threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Hey," said Brenda, much more gently this time, "relax. I've been working on this since band camp. It's going to be all right. Kendall's going to be spotting me with the extinguisher the whole time, okay?" Closing her eyes briefly, Sharon nodded, and Brenda rested a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "Go on." She nudged Sharon in the direction of the band room. "You can't leave Andrea on her own with all those clarinets, can you?"

Finally Sharon smiled, albeit shakily. "No. I really can't. Brenda – _take care." _

Holding her gaze for a long minute, Brenda nodded. "I will. I promise." And then the field was empty.

Taking a deep breath, Brenda stood and reached for the unlit batons. With the music playing only in her mind, she began to twirl.

* * *

"She's going to be fine, Sharie," sighed Andrea when Sharon walked through the door.

"That's what she said." Sharon opened her clarinet case with quick precision. "But a fire baton? _Two _of them?"

"I can't wait," Andrea admitted as she settled her music on their shared stand. "Playing 'One Day More' with an entire flag corps, three rifle twirlers, three sabre twirlers, two red flags, and Brenda doing two fire batons? It's going to look unbelievable, especially at night."

"Not if she sets the field on fire!"

"Sharon, are you worried about the field, or are you worried about her?"

Sharon just glared.

"That's what I thought," said Andrea. "Calm down, sweetie. She's not going to set the field on fire, and she's not going to set herself on fire."

"She could get seriously hurt, Andie," Sharon managed at last.

"But she's not going to," Andrea said calmly. "She's one of the top ten twirlers in the country, if not top five – I can't remember where she ranked after Nationals in July, but it was high. I'll bet you she's been practicing this all summer, with just Irene and maybe Kendall. This isn't the first time she's done it with live fire, I can guarantee you that. It's just the first time she's done it with the full band. If she can twirl three batons at once for a ten-minute show, she'll be able to handle two fire batons just fine."

"Oh, stop applying logic to emotion!" snapped Sharon, but she looked visibly relieved.

"Yes, dear." Andrea's voice was bland. "I gather that overnighter the other day changed a few things."

"More than a few. Andie, I was such an _idiot!" _

"And so was she. Neither of you bothered to look past the surface, but when you did, you realized just what you'd been missing. Does any of that really matter any more, now that you've found it?"

"No," admitted Sharon, her eyes glued to the floor. "I just… I'm scared for her, Andie. And I don't want to be."

"It's part of the package, sweetie," said Andrea, sympathetic but firm. "If you care about her, you're going to worry. That's human nature." She jerked her head in the direction of the trombone section, where Fritz Howard wore a calm smile that masked worried eyes. "Is she worth it?"

Not taking her eyes from the floor, Sharon answered her friend's question without thinking. "Yes. Yes, she is."

"Then take a deep breath, do your job, and trust her to do hers," said Andrea firmly.

"All right." Finally she met Andrea's eyes with hers. "But Andie? Promise me _you _won't start playing around with fire batons. I don't think my heart could take it."

"That," said Andrea with a laugh, "is a promise I can definitely make. Oh – heads up!"

"Clarinets get ready for warm-ups!" called Sharon over the hubbub, and the band settled down at last.

* * *

By the time the band made it to the football field, the majorettes were all clustered on the sidelines around Brenda.

"Now y'all just do exactly what we practiced," she was saying. "It's no different than the quad batons, all right? I'll be well out of y'all's way."

"We'll have one less flag for the final number, though," pointed out Bethany, a redheaded senior and majorette veteran. "Will it throw off the balance?"

"Nope." Brenda shook her head. "I'm pulling Kendall out to run the extinguisher, so we'll have two flags, one on the left and one on the right. Kendall was front and center with her flag, so we'll miss that, but the show is still balanced."

"Why is it Kendall?" asked Amy Sykes, who looked almost green. "Why not Irene? She's your second."

"I need Irene on the field," said Brenda patiently. "I won't be paying attention to anything but my own baton, but y'all need someone to look to, and Kendall doesn't have the experience. She's also the only one besides me and Irene who's done fire baton before. Irene's leading sabers, Bethany's leading flags, and Ainsley'll be leading rifles. That leaves me and Kendall free to do what we need to do with the fire."

"Heads up," Irene said quietly as the rest of the band trooped out, and Brenda nodded.

"Right," she called, "places, everyone!"

"Hey," said a voice in her ear, and she turned around.

"Hey, Fritzy," she said, kissing him quickly.

"You take care, all right?" His voice was low and serious. "I know you've done this before, but I still get chills."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I promise."

He nodded. "Then go reassure Sharon, would you? She's been bending Andrea's ear ever since warm-ups."

Brenda smiled softly. "She and I already talked, but I'll go over there anyway." Fritz nodded, kissed her cheek, and followed the rest of the trombones as Brenda hurried to tap Sharon on the shoulder. The other girl spun around, surprised, as Brenda took her hand and squeezed.

The exchange was quick and wordless, but Sharon squeezed Brenda's hand tight before they separated.

And then the director called for formation, and there was no time left to talk at all.


	9. Drops of Jupiter

**Author's Note: **_I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to my younger brother, an actual high school marching band kid, who provided invaluable insight and let me badger him about which instruments would play what music until the wee hours of the morning. This one's for you, kiddo.  
_

* * *

After five years of marching band, and three in a band that regularly placed fifth or higher at national championships and had done for the last twenty years, Sharon Raydor had thought herself done with being awed by a musical program, but even she couldn't help but be impressed by this year's show.

Even without Brenda's double fire batons, which were sadly banned from competition, "Flag of Freedom" was a showstopper. Featuring the music of Schönberg and Boublil's _Les Misérables, _the show took the bombastic orchestration of the original West End production and ramped it up to a ten-minute-long showcase of some of the most famous melodies in the world, performed by a band over two hundred members strong.

As if that weren't enough, their director had given the melody lines, once sung by the soloists onstage, to the senior band members. From Cosette's delicate flute descant and Marius' alto saxophone, to the Thénardiers' brassy French horn and Javert's rich euphonium, to – she thought with a thrill – her own clarinet joining Andrea's as Éponine, and Valjean's trumpet resounding over everything, every major character in the show was represented. No matter how many wrong notes anyone hit – and there were a few of those, nationally ranked band or no – every time she heard it she felt the chills running down her spine. It was the kind of program that came along once in a lifetime, and it was her senior program. _Good God, _she thought, not for the first time, _what a way to finish my high school marching career!_

It was almost enough to make her stop worrying about Brenda.

Almost.

That individual was working three batons at once for the first three songs, the featured soloist in a majorette routine that included colored batons, rifles, sabres, and – at the appropriate moment – the red flags of revolution that had become nothing short of iconic.

_Now, _thought Sharon wryly, _all we have to do is do it right. Which is not what we have been doing the last month and a half. But then, we're always rough at first. We'll get there._

_…I hope._

"All right, people!" called their director when all two-hundred-odd members of the band, drum line, majorette corps, and flag corps were finally in position on the football field. "We're seeing our fire batons for the first time today, so keep an eye out! And remember, our first game is on Friday night and our first competition is on Saturday, so let's give it everything we've got!"

Percussion tapped off the beat, and with a single gesture by the drum majors, the woodwinds launched into the first, floating notes of "I Dreamed a Dream," led by the oboe crooning Fantine's melody.

Out in front of the band, Brenda began to twirl.

* * *

Marching band was, in Brenda's experience, a hit-or-miss proposition. Some days, everything seemed to go wrong; the girls couldn't hit their marks, she couldn't quite handle that third baton, the musicians couldn't stop hitting wrong notes, and the flag corps kept knocking their flags together.

But then… then there were the days everything seemed to sing, when working her batons was as easy as breathing, the band was perfectly together on every note, the majorettes were perfectly on point, and the flag corps moved like one person, not fifteen.

Those were the days Brenda lived for, and today was one of them.

She started with just three batons in a slow, balletic routine that had her batons soaring like feathers, almost as though they were being carried on the music. The twirls picked up speed as the melody surged in a plaintive lament, spinning in her hands and around her body before she flung them high in the air. Blue, pink, and silver flashed against the sky for an endless instant before all three were in her hands again. Behind her, as the musicians moved through their drill, Irene worked double sabres; Ainsley, on the other side of the formation, was working double rifles, and Bethany worked double batons, leading the twirlers who, in a few minutes, would pick up those famous red flags of revolution.

All told, seven batons, four sabres, and four rifles filled the air alongside the fifteen beige and tricolor flags of their color guard, and for a brief instant Brenda could see how it all must look and together: batons flashing, sabres dancing, rifles spinning, flags the color of old parchment mixed with the French red-blue-and-white tricolor flying through the air, and all around them the band playing a song so glorious that it made her heart beat faster even though she'd never seen the show in her life.

The final notes of "I Dreamed a Dream" echoed through the air, and as they faded the tempo picked up as the band launched into the quick and jaunty "Master of the House." Brenda's batons picked up speed, keeping pace with the madcap Thénardiers, and the rest of the flag and majorette corps followed as the brassy notes rang clear against the autumn sky.

The snappy routine went by in a flash, followed by "Do You Hear the People Sing?" – a rousing anthem that had her blood surging in her veins. The clarion call of the trumpets soared over the melody of the alto saxophone, and the tempo was reflected in the aerial cartwheels and handsprings of half a dozen experienced majorettes – including Brenda, who managed to throw three batons, whip through a back handspring into a back tuck, and catch all three without missing a beat.

If she'd been able to take her concentration from her batons, Brenda would have heard Sharon Raydor gasping in awe.

* * *

Their third song ended too soon, all three songs having been cut to two minutes or less so the band could play the heart-stopping "One Day More" in its entirety. But Sharon couldn't be cross about the cuts, not when it meant playing "One Day More" in full.

The pause between songs was a little longer this time, as Kendall ran in from the field to light Brenda's fire batons, and Sharon sucked in a deep breath. She had to focus, she knew – this was her solo, after all, and an important one at that – but it was hard, what with Brenda throwing fire around.

It seemed to take forever, but really it was all of ten seconds before Brenda's batons were lit and the soft sound of chimes rang through the air, signaling the start of what might just be the most famous number in the history of musical theater.

Shivering, Sharon held her breath and waited as fire began to spin.

* * *

The trumpets came in first, then Marius' alto saxophone, joined by Cosette's flute descant. Brenda's batons were working flawlessly, spinning slowly through gentle tosses. She heard the cry of Sharon's clarinet join the melody, and for the first time since the music began, she nearly dropped her batons. Somehow, though she knew Andrea was also playing that solo, she could pick out Sharon's "voice" without effort, and she didn't dare to wonder how.

She recovered her rhythm easily, her batons picking up speed with the music, French horns and the euphonium sounding out, and the melodies came together in a soaring symphony of sound. Her heart was thundering with it. When she threw her batons, fire traced across the sky, flaming bright.

_If we can play like this in November, _she thought, giddy, _we'll win Nationals, hands down._

Out of the corner of her eye she saw red flags fly high. Brass thundered, woodwinds soared, and as the last bars rang out, she launched into fouettés, those whipped pirouettes made famous by _Swan Lake, _her batons flying all the while.

She spun, and spun, and spun, half dizzy with it, and as the last chords echoed, she landed, one foot braced behind her, the ends of her batons still blazing.

* * *

Stunned, Sharon lowered her clarinet. At the edge of the field Brenda extinguished her batons and handed them to Kendall, then looked over her shoulder, her eyes finding Sharon's without effort.

Even yards away, Sharon saw Brenda's wink, and nearly sank to the floor in relief.

They worked the afternoon through, picking through trouble spots, polishing music and drill movements. Brenda left the fire batons in their cases, content to watch her majorettes with an eagle eye now that she'd successfully completed the routine once already; they'd do it again at the end of rehearsal, but until then, Brenda merely watched and took notes. Sharon noted with relief that they'd improved tremendously since last week; clearly, their Saturday rehearsal had worked out the worst of the kinks. Even Amy Sykes was on point.

Nearly ninety minutes later, the director called for one last run-through. They did it all again, full out, just like they'd done it earlier that afternoon, with everything coming together perfectly, and Sharon thought breathlessly that maybe today would be one of those days where everything went right.

As the last bars of "One Day More" rang out in full for the second time that afternoon, Brenda launched into those dizzying fouettés, spinning like a professional ballerina on the rough grass of the football field.

And then, without warning, she dropped to the ground with a sharp cry of pain, legs crumpled underneath her, batons still flaming.


	10. There's Your Trouble

Earning Sharon's everlasting gratitude, Kendall was on the batons in seconds, extinguishing all four wicks almost instantly. Brenda, miraculously, hadn't been so much as singed, and Sharon felt her heart start beating again.

Brenda was, however, in a great deal of pain, her hands balled into fists and her face completely drained of color. Fritz wasn't far behind Kendall as he handed his trombone to Andy Flynn and darted to his fallen girlfriend. Hard on his heels was Irene, who had shoved her sabres at Ainsley and dashed away.

"Rehearsal dismissed!" called the director. "Get out of here, everyone, and go get everything in the band room cleaned up!"

Andrea silently whisked Sharon's clarinet out of her hand and shoved her toward the sidelines. "Go," she said simply. "I'll take care of everything else."

Sharon whirled, breathed, "Oh, Andie, I love you," and flung her arms around her best friend.

"I know. You're welcome. Now go!"

Sharon arrived on the sidelines just as Fritz was carefully lifting Brenda into his arms. She winced and held on to his neck, her face still chalk white, but managed to throw a smile in Sharon's direction as she was carried to the bleachers.

Carefully Sharon skirted Kendall – who was cleaning up Brenda's batons, both the plain and fire sort, and putting everything into their cases – and Irene, who was in quiet conference with their director, and made her way to the bleachers, where Brenda had put her right leg up and was leaning back against Fritz, biting her lip and visibly struggling not to make a sound.

Wordlessly she reached out a hand for Sharon, who took it instantly and held on.

"What's wrong?" Sharon asked gently, her voice shaking. "You just dropped like…"

"Cramp," Brenda gritted out. "In my right calf. I did something wrong on those last fouettés, it just seized up and I dropped."

"But that's never happened before!" came Fritz's protest. "You've done that routine dozens of times, with the regular batons and the unlit fire batons, I've seen you!"

"But mostly on the basketball court," managed Brenda. "I've only done them on grass once or twice a week since band camp. It's a lot more torque on my leg, and I was distracted during warm-ups today…"

"It happens," broke in Sharon. When Brenda looked at her, she added, "I danced ballet for ten years, but I quit so I could focus completely on band when I started high school. I've had this happen before."

"Yes, all right," said Fritz impatiently as he stroked Brenda's hair off her sweaty forehead. "We can talk about how it happened later, now how do we _fix it? _She's hurting!"

"I know," said Sharon levelly, and Fritz looked up at her with apology in his eyes. Quick and wordless the exchange flashed between them: _I'm just scared for her, _his eyes said, and hers answered, _I know. It's all right. I am too. Don't worry, we can fix this. _He nodded in understanding, and Sharon turned back to Brenda, who was watching them with bemusement.

"Heat," the blonde said, squeezing Sharon's hand more tightly. "To relax the muscle. At least, that's what I heard – this is a first for me."

"That would be ideal," said Sharon, "but that could take a couple of hours to work completely. There is another way, though." Green eyes met brown. "When I used to dance, this would happen every so often. There's always one specific point – a knot, for lack of a better word – where the muscle is all tied up. It's called a trigger point. If you can get that trigger point unknotted, the cramp should go away. But I'll warn you, it's going to be rather painful."

"Go ahead." Brenda didn't hesitate. "I'd rather not wait for a couple of hours for heat to work, thanks very much."

"Very well." Carefully Sharon took hold of Brenda's calf, willing her hands to stop shaking with nerves. The muscle was completely rigid, and Brenda hissed quietly in pain and clamped her hand around Fritz's as Sharon dug her thumbs into the groove along the shin bone, then into the belly of the muscle itself. She let out a surprised yelp when Sharon hit a particular spot on the outside, and Sharon nodded in satisfaction; there was the knot.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Brenda, who tightened her grip on Fritz's hand, bit her lip, and nodded. Tears began to leak from her eyes as Sharon probed deep, and she murmured "Just hang on, honey, I'm so sorry," as the muscle gave under the pressure of her fingers. "Talk to me," she said, trying to distract Brenda from the pain. "What are you up to tonight?"

"Studying and more studying," Brenda admitted with a groan. "But Fritzy's coming over for dinner and a study session, so at least I'll get to spend some more time with him. What about you?"

"I'm going home with Andrea, but other than that, I'm in the same boat as you. Studying and more studying. Especially since we've got the competition on Saturday, and I don't really want to study on the bus if I don't have to."

"Speaking of the bus," said Fritz, a little hesitantly, "babe, you know how Andrea and I have that English project due in a couple of weeks? Would you be terribly offended if she and I sat together for the bus ride so we could work?"

Brenda rolled her eyes, and then let out a little gasp as Sharon hit a particularly tender spot. "Of course not," she said tartly. "It's not like I can't sit across the aisle from you, or something. Somehow I don't think being separated from you by three feet is going to kill me. If you're stealing her usual seat partner, though, maybe I'll sit with Sharon instead. If that's all right with you, Sharon?"

Sharon's thumbs paused, then started moving again. "Of course," she said, hiding the quiet thrill. "I'll bring the portable DVD player, if you like."

"Can we do _Men in Tights _again?" Brenda's eyes lit up.

"I assume by 'do' the film you mean doing the dialogue ourselves, yes?" Sharon said dryly. "If you insist, as long as we keep it relatively quiet. By which I mean, no, you may _not_ do the Sheriff's lines at full volume whilst gesticulating like a circus clown."

"You're no fun!" accused Brenda with a pout.

"All right, I'll bring _Schindler's List _instead."

"Okay, okay, no Sheriff at full volume while – what was it? Gesticulating like a circus clown? Fine, I'll be good, I swear," promised Brenda immediately, and Sharon smirked.

"Do I want to know?" Fritz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" chorused Brenda and Sharon in perfect unison, then collapsed into giggles. They only managed to stop when Brenda swore quietly under her breath as Sharon hit another tender spot.

* * *

"Almost there," said Sharon a few minutes later. The sweat was rolling down Brenda's forehead now, but she'd otherwise remained remarkably calm.

Finally Sharon gave one last, hard rub, digging deep. Brenda squeaked, then melted back against Fritz as her calf muscle relaxed all at once. Sharon slipped the jazz shoe off her foot to pull her toes, as she had done years ago in ballet class, and Brenda sighed with relief. "You are a lifesaver," she informed Sharon, who blushed hotly. "How many times did you go down like this?"

"Two or three," Sharon answered her, "almost all after I went _en pointe_. But then, I was never doing fouettés on grass, either. Try flexing that foot, then walking on it."

Brenda did, and let out another long sigh when all that was left was a dull ache, and even that was fading fast. Fritz helped her stand, and after a few shaky steps, everyone could see she was nearly back to normal. Brenda turned a cartwheel, landed it perfectly, shook out her leg, and nodded in satisfaction.

Their director came over. "Are you all right, Brenda?"

"Back to normal," she said cheerfully, "thanks to Sharon. I'll be fit to practice tomorrow."

"Make sure you take a hot bath or something tonight," Sharon warned her, "or you could stiffen up again, and if it feels weird, go to a doctor! I'm no expert."

"Yes, ma'am," said Brenda with an eye-roll, but Sharon didn't miss the wink Brenda threw her way.

Irene, who had spent the time talking quietly with their director on the sidelines, came over then, handing Brenda a long, slim nylon bag. "My batons!" Brenda said with relief, and hugged Irene quickly. "Thanks, hon, and thank Kendall for me, would you?"

Irene nodded and hugged Brenda back. "She and the others are already changed. Do you want to do notes now?"

Brenda thought for a minute, then shook her head. "I can just as easily go over everything tomorrow. Tell everyone not to dawdle after last period, though, I'll want to go over everything before rehearsal starts." Irene nodded and left, and Brenda turned to Fritz. "Do they need you in the band room?"

Fritz shook his head. "No, Andy said he'd take care of everything. I just have to put my stuff away, then we can go whenever you're ready."

Brenda kissed him on the cheek. "Then why don't you go on, and I'll meet you there."

Fritz nodded, then turned to Sharon. "Raydor – Sharon," he amended. "Thanks for your help. And I'm sorry about – you know."

"It wasn't a problem," Sharon said softly. "Really. I was happy to help. And no apology is necessary, truly. I know you were just worried about her."

Fritz quirked a smile and nodded in her direction. "I'll tell Andrea you'll be a few minutes," he said, and Sharon nodded her thanks in return. Then Fritz kissed Brenda's hair softly and left for the band room, leaving them alone on the bleachers.

* * *

Brenda opened her mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance before Sharon broke in with, "You scared me to _death, _Brenda Leigh Johnson." Her voice was hoarse, and Brenda noticed her hands were shaking. "I saw you drop and I…"

"Hey," said Brenda quietly, and she stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on Sharon's shoulder. "It was just a cramp. Everything's all right. _I'm _all right." Impulsively, she moved closer and hugged Sharon tightly. The other girl stiffened for a moment, then sighed and went limp, hugging Brenda back just as hard, and Brenda held her close for a minute. Sharon had been so calm, but now she could see how scared her friend had really been, and Brenda's heart broke a little bit for her.

They broke apart, and Brenda was a little bit stunned to realize that the whole incident, from the time she'd dropped, had taken no more than ten or fifteen minutes. It had felt like hours, but she could see people just starting to leave the band room and locker rooms for their cars, including her own squad – Irene must have already told them they could go, she thought briefly.

Sharon coughed. "Come on," she said, just loud enough for Brenda to hear. "I know Fritz is waiting for you, and I've got to meet Andrea."

Brenda nodded and reached out to squeeze Sharon's hand briefly, then picked up her baton bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Let's go," she said. "I don't know about you, but I'm _starving. _What are you and Andrea doing for food, by the way, with your mom out of town?"

"Oh, we're going to her house for dinner and to study – I usually stay with her more often than not, when Mama's away. I'll probably spend most nights this week at her house – it makes her mom feel better, to keep an eye on me."

Brenda grinned. "I can see that," she agreed as they reached the door to the band room. "Hey, see you at lunch tomorrow?"

Sharon nodded, tucking a strand of hair out of her eyes and shooting Brenda a quick grin in return. "Of course."

"Brenda!" It was Fritz's voice.

"Coming!" she called. Turning, she squeezed Sharon's hand silently. They shared one last smile, then separated as Sharon left for the clarinet section, where Andrea was waiting for her.

"Hey, you," Fritz said, coming up to sling an arm around her shoulders, and Brenda turned her smile on him, leaning into his side.

"Hey back," she said cheerfully. "Ready for some of Mama's homemade cooking?"

"Am I ever!" Fritz smiled down at her, his eyes warm. "For some reason I'm more hungry than usual after rehearsal."

"Gee, I wonder why that could be?" Brenda's voice was dry. "It was rather eventful."

"I guess you weren't kidding about you and Raydor – Sharon," he corrected himself, "being on better terms these days."

Brenda shook her head. "She's… quite something, once you get to know her." She looked up at him. "I'm really glad I found that out in time."

"You know," said Fritz contemplatively, "I think I am too. I mean, I never really _disliked _her, but I never really tried to get to know her, either. Now I think maybe I should have. I just know I'm really glad she was there to help."

"Well, thankfully, it's not too late. And believe me, so am I!" She slung her baton bag in the backseat of her car, then slipped into the driver's seat as Fritz swung into the passenger side. "Come on, let's go get some food. Time, tide, and homework wait for no one!"

* * *

Back in the band room, Andrea and Sharon picked up their clarinets. "Andie," said Sharon, "I can't thank you enough for…"

"Oh, hush!" Andrea said tartly. "You were scared out of your mind. It was the least I could do, to help you both out. I take it that it wasn't anything too serious?"

Sharon nodded as they made their way to the parking lot. "Just a muscle cramp," she confirmed. "The same kind we used to get in ballet – you know those."

Andrea winced. "So fixable, but painful as all hell," she said, and Sharon nodded.

"That's about the size of it," she agreed. "Luckily, the old trick worked like a charm. She'll be back to doing flips tomorrow."

"Good," said Andrea forcefully. "Aside from the fact that our band needs her, badly, no one deserves to go through that. I'm glad she's all right."

"Me, too," said Sharon softly. "Oh, Andie, me too." Shaking her shoulders, she loaded her clarinet into the trunk of Andrea's car, then settled into the passenger seat. "Right. Let's get some dinner and try to make a start on that Calc assignment, shall we?"

Andrea just groaned_._


End file.
